


Covet

by expected_aberrance



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Moral Ambiguity, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Runaway AU, Stalking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 14:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12772989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expected_aberrance/pseuds/expected_aberrance
Summary: Gray began to erase Sansa’s vision, blurring it, then suddenly bursts of white exploded behind her eyes as her head hit the glass behind. She couldn’t afford to pay it any mind, too focused on trying to breathe, lungs desperately pulling against the barrier of the hands around her neck, windpipe crushed in a cruel grip. She should never have gotten in the car. She’d thought, foolishly, that she could talk to him, resolve things, settle them once and for all. He’d had the same idea, apparently, but a much different outcome in mind. Girls didn’t dump Joffrey Baratheon, he’d informed her before lunging for her throat; he decided when he was done withthem. And he’d decided he wasn’t done with her. Now she was going to die for her stupidity--





	Covet

**Author's Note:**

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Gray began to erase Sansa’s vision, blurring it, then suddenly bursts of white exploded behind her eyes as her head hit the glass at her back. She couldn’t afford to pay it any mind, too focused on trying to breathe, lungs desperately pulling against the barrier of the hands around her neck, windpipe crushed in a cruel grip. She should never have gotten in the car. She’d thought, foolishly, that she could talk to him, resolve things, settle them once and for all. He’d had the same idea, apparently, but a much different outcome in mind. Girls didn’t dump Joffrey Baratheon, he’d informed her before lunging for her throat; he decided when he was done with _them._ And he’d decided he wasn’t done with her. Now she was going to die for her stupidity--

It had taken her long enough to separate herself from him, excusing all the controlling, belittling aspects of their relationship far too many times before she finally found the strength to end it. It hadn’t stopped there, of course. Petty, threatening notes left in her locker, obscene graffiti, a dead bird in her gym bag, ugly rumours of her promiscuity spreading like wildfire throughout the school, cliques she once flitted between with ease shutting her out--a million slights and torments gifted from a sadistic, entitled monster and abetted by the complicit cruelty of her peers. She’d endured it in shame, though the pain ate at her daily, and the stress of hiding the agony from her family weighed her down even more. Joffrey was the son of her father’s best friend, and they’d practically been pushed together by both sets of parents hoping for a happy union. Her mother and father had been so disappointed by their breakup, imploring her to reconsider. She couldn’t bear for them to know the truth, halfway fearing they wouldn’t believe her, terrified they’d find out what a fool she’d been. Even the few friends she had left--excluding Margaery of course, she’d started dating the golden boy almost as soon as the news of their breakup had made it around the school--withdrew from her out of self-preservation, not that she could blame them.

So when Joffrey had pulled up alongside her in the showy two-seater his parents had bestowed upon him as she was walking home, sounding contrite, claiming to want to _talk,_ she’d been wary but acquiesced after a few moments, almost willing to do anything to make the persecution stop. She remained on edge, her unease deepening as she realized they weren’t headed for her house or even his, the buildings around her started to grow strange and seedy, shadows deepening in the fading light of the autumn sun. When she’d surreptitiously tried to get out her phone he’d flashed the knife at her, making her toss it to the back seat. She’d tried the door next with no result but a vicious laugh from the boy beside her. The dilapidated, deserted industrial complex he’d turned into did nothing to lessen her growing terror. Joffrey promised no one would ever find them, no matter how loudly she screamed.

\--her limbs felt heavy and light all at once, flailing uselessly against his crushing weight, scrambling for purchase, for _anything--_

Suddenly the vice around her throat loosened, the air finally re-entering her lungs burning like the drag of a cigarette, and she started coughing, gagging on the much-needed oxygen. Gradually, the deafening roar of silence was intruded on by high-pitched yelps and screams, the gray monolith obscuring her vision dissolving as the car’s interior became visible once more. Glass shards from the broken driver’s side window scattered over the seat and floor caught the faint light, glittering like diamonds, and through the open door in front of her she saw the silhouettes of two figures, one hunched over the other, delivering brutal, merciless blows--the pitiful noises emitting from the form on the ground were barely human, accompanied by the heavy, wet thuds of flesh giving way beneath fists.  She sat up, searching around herself for a weapon, a piece of glass, something heavy, anything that could serve to protect her but finding nothing. She pressed herself against the door behind, trying to unlock it with no success.

The aggressor picked up the whimpering form--Joffrey, identifiable only by the shock of blond he kept artfully disheveled--only to slam his head down into the pavement, once, twice, a third time, the woeful cries abruptly ceasing, then yet again before letting the dead weight fall with a final crunch. The silhouette of the man crouched over the broken, lifeless body of her former boyfriend turned toward her, illuminating a face set in cold fury for the first time, silver flashing at its temples. She was struck dumb by the identity of her savior.

 _Petyr Baelish._ She hadn’t seen him in years, not since her thirteenth birthday--

_“They’re beautiful, Uncle Petyr. Thank you so much!” she exclaimed upon unwrapping his gift--earrings and a matching necklace set in platinum and blue garnet; not that she knew the true value of the precious materials at the time, only that she loved them._

_He smiled, green-gray eyes matching his expression as he replied, “They suit you, sweetling.”_

_His hands were likewise warm and smooth against her skin as he fastened the pendant around her neck, and he smelled of mint and spice when she hugged him in gratitude. She didn’t notice anything abnormal in the way he held her to himself, firm but careful, as if she were precious to him._

_He’d always been the best-liked of her parents’ friends and acquaintances, for her and her siblings alike; though he was only a few years younger than her mother, he’d seemed so much_ **_cooler_ ** _than her parents, ever ready with the latest gadget or toy when he visited, able to join in any game with ease, funny, quick, and clever. Sansa had been his favorite, however, and basked in the attention, adoring him in turn. He spoiled her with gifts especially as was his wont, the jewelry the latest in a host of similar presents much-treasured._

He was breathing heavy and fast as he stared at her, standing slowly, stepping forward to lean into the car. His expression softened as he held out a hand toward her in entreaty, knuckles bruised and bleeding. His voice was familiar though rough; she’d heard it a thousand times, but not like this. “Sansa...”

She didn’t take it at first, frozen in place. Something like pain flashed across his face but it disappeared when she finally clasped the outstretched hand, her own trembling within his, his grin a purer joy than was proper with flecks of blood over it.

_She’d thought nothing of it at the time, thinking it was just more of the costume jewelry she’d always gotten as gifts, if of better workmanship, even wearing it to school, a risk she’d never taken if she’d known its true value. A few weeks later, her mother had gotten a closer look at the pieces and figured out their real worth. She’d thrown a fit, to Sansa’s bewilderment, and her father had been even worse, frothing in a rage she and her siblings had never seen before. Her parents argued behind a locked door for a long time, and when they came out, confiscated her presents. Uncle Petyr never came to the house again._

He helped pull her from the car with a gentle grip, avoiding the glass covering every surface. She stood shakily, the hand wrapped around her elbow and at the small of her back helping ground her. Shuddering, she stepped over Joffrey, eyes open but unseeing, face shattered and coated in red.

Petyr studied her carefully as best as he was able in the dim light. “Are you hurt, sweetling?” he asked softly, his hands rubbing up and down her upper arms. She tried to answer, but her response dissolved into a flurry of coughs as her bruised vocal cords betrayed her. “Shh, it’s ok, love,” he murmured, drawing her closer. “Come with me.”

_She hadn’t understood the inappropriate nature of the gift nor figured out what her parents had been so afraid of until much later. Neither had she thought to wonder what Uncle Petyr must do to be able to afford such extravagance, especially to bestow upon the silly little girl for whom he happened to serve as godfather. None of that entered her mind at the time, too embroiled in the unfairness of it all. If she’d been upset at being forced to return the gift, she was devastated upon hearing her parents’ declaration that she was never to see or speak to the giver again._

He led her to another car a few yard away, an expensive-looking sedan she’d seen more than once parked outside her school or down the block as she walked home from track practice. He opened the passenger door before going around back to the trunk to retrieve something. She sat huddled in the seat, still caught in the numb, cloying grip of shock. He returned with a towel and knelt in front of her to wipe the blood from her hands, his own clean but now revealed to be covered in bruises and cuts.

When he was done, he exchanged the soiled fabric for a bottle of water. His hand cradled the back of her head as she tipped it back to sip gingerly at the cool liquid. The water helped; her throat no longer felt like it was full of broken glass, as if she were going to choke on every breath.

_The jewelry had mysteriously shown up in her locker a week later, wrapped in simple paper with no note. She’d been a bit unsettled but grateful to have them back, especially as she missed the giver dearly. She was only able to wear them in the privacy of her own room, as she knew her parents would be apoplectic if they ever saw._

His gaze hardened as he examined her throat, presumably at whatever damage Joffrey had left there. She likely had bruises forming, judging by the way her neck had started to ache. “I’m so sorry, sweetling,” his voice rumbled, seeming to carry through his hands on her jaw and base of her skull.

She shook her head in his grip, uncertain of what he meant, but he hushed her again. “Wait here. Don’t try to talk yet.”

He walked over to her former boyfriend's car only to return with her bag and phone before stepping away again. He retrieved a can of gasoline and a flare from the trunk of his own, stalking back to the idling coupe and its owner pounded into the dirt. He doused Joffrey’s corpse then the car in the flammable liquid, inserting a rag into the open gas cap. He lit the flare then used it to set the lot on fire casually, as if he did it every day. The sliver of flame soon flared into an inferno, eerily illuminating its fuel, devouring flesh and metal alike, the heat of which she could feel even at a distance. Her erstwhile godfather stood watching, seeming to admire his own handiwork, the red glow highlighting the wrathful expression on his face. After a moment, he turned and headed back to her; flame seemed to lick at his footsteps, like he was some sort of avenging demon. She shook off the fanciful thought.

At his bidding she shifted in the seat to allow him to close the door. She didn’t ask how he knew where she was or that she needed help. She could guess easily enough. It explained the feeling she had every so often of being watched. He’d been doing so, evidently, for a very long time, perhaps since her parents had banished him from her life in any official capacity.

He climbed in the driver’s side, starting the car with brisk efficiency. As he put it in gear, pulling away from the impromptu funeral pyre, he turned to her, smiling, and it shouldn’t have been the face of a man who had just killed another human being with his bare hands. He drove skillfully through the decaying complex and back to the main road, glancing at her often as if she would disappear at any moment. He noticed her hands shaking and covered them with his own, rubbing her fingers with his, the press of his knuckles into her thigh almost a burn.

“It’s alright my love, he’ll never touch you again. _No one will_ ,” he vowed, his hand tightening over hers, his gaze dark and piercing. It made her shiver. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a long kiss there, and she felt his smile against her skin at her sharp gasp.

The miles stretched out behind them, but they weren’t heading back to her school, or to her parents’ house. She waited for some part of her to protest, scream, perhaps fight him, or at least pull her hands from his, but nothing came. Maybe it was the memory of being held securely in his arms, the scent of mint filling her nose, the scratch of his stubble against her cheek, or perhaps it was her traitorous heart bidding her trust against all reason, letting herself be taken by this violent stranger who’d been so dear to her. She watched the play of light and shadow over his face from the passing streetlamps, his expression mercurial, ever-shifting but never losing a fierce undercurrent of pure possession. She swallowed, and turned her eyes back to the road ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a bunch of WIPs staring at me accusingly, but I couldn't get this out of my head. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!


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